


Smooth

by Lenore



Category: Firefly
Genre: First Time, M/M, Missionfic, Pretending to Be Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-26
Updated: 2008-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal and Simon do a job together. What a big shock that nothing goes smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear [](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/profile)[**barely_bean**](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/) for beta reading for me.

Mal was a simple man. That was how he reckoned it anyway. Didn't ask much out of life. Took what jobs as came along, enough to keep _Serenity_ flying. Put in an honest day's thievin', got paid for it. Simple.

Least ways, that was how it was supposed to go.

"Where in the gorram hell is that _mei yong hun dan_?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "You mean our client?"

Mal pressed his lips together, giving Simon a hard look. Boy never had learned to fear him proper. It was an oversight Mal was going to have to see to one of these days.

A fancy gilt clock hung up on the silk-covered wall, loudly ticking off the waste of Mal's time. Their would-be client was working on being an hour late. Mal shifted restively in the overstuffed chair, pulled at the collar of his finery that felt like it was strangling him. Didn't matter that the Alliance hadn't set up a base on Klotho, not yet anyway. It still had enough of the Core's useless frippery to make Mal twitchy, this "gentleman's tea room" being a prime example.

"You're fidgeting," Simon said, with a polite little smile, like he was making small talk about waistcoats and hair oil the way the perfumed dandies at the other tables were most likely doing.

Mal thought he spied some humor lurking in the doctor's eyes. Nope, not nearly afraid enough of him.

"Best stick to your own part in this, doc. Lookin' pretty don't take conversation."

The waiter brought their tea, setting out the whisper thin cups and saucers, the creamer and sugar bowl with fussy precision. The china was touched with gold, just the way every other gorram thing in the place was. The room glittered so infernally it was damned near stupefying. Steam rose as the waiter poured the tea, finishing off with a flourish of his wrist. It would have taken a better man than Mal to resist rolling his eyes.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" The waiter favored Simon with a soft look, like it was his own self he was offering up.

Mal gave him a hard, flat smile. "You've been all kinds of hospitable."

The waiter's forehead puckered, and he scurried off. Mal enjoyed the sight too much to keep a grin off his face.

"I thought we were supposed to be fitting in," Simon said.

"We are," Mal told him. "We're fancy gentlemen drinking fancy tea out of some very fine teacups."

Too fine, really. Mal's hand felt ponderous wrapped around it, the china so thin he could see daylight through it. The notion that it could shatter in his grip made him over cautious.

Simon sipped his tea with thoughtless grace, his pinky sticking out, or close enough anyway, looking as if he was right where he belonged, as if life on _Serenity_ hadn't touched him at all. Which had been the point of bringing him along, of course, but Mal wasn't much in the mood to trouble his self with logic. Logic had helped land him in this gorram place, that and Kaylee's helpful suggestions, and Wash's ruttin' sense of humor.

"Got a wave from a friend," Wash had said over dinner two nights ago. "Knows of a job he thought we might want to take on. Nothing illegal, which is a disappointment obviously, but still, yay money."

Mal looked up from his plate of protein doubtfully. "And what exactly would we have to do for this licit windfall?"

"Just play middleman for some rich guy who likes to dabble in the amberite trade without getting his hands dirty."

"Why don't this friend of yours take the job?" Mal asked suspiciously. "Why pass it along to us?"

Wash's mouth crooked up at the corner. "Because the wealthy dabbler prefers to deal with someone who, and I'm quoting, 'knows the difference between a fish fork and a soup spoon'. We'll need a veneer of respectability."

Mal made a face. The wealthy dabbler sounded like a right _shagua_. Still, they hadn't had a job in almost three weeks. "If it's legal, maybe Inara could be persuaded to—" He directed a hopeful glance at her.

Wash shook his head. "While Inara brings new shininess to the word 'respectable', she's not going to be able to help us with this. Apparently our would-be employer is more of a...gentleman's gentleman. Picked a tearoom on Klotho for the meet. Caters to a very _exclusive_ clientele."

Wash didn't even try to hold back a gleeful smirk, and Mal thought, not for the first time, that he really ought to have taken Zoe into his bed back when he had the chance. Wash might have been a touch less bedevil-making if he had.

Jayne frowned. "What's that mean? Exclusive clientele. This pain in the rear client royalty or something?"

The shepherd looked down at his plate, trying not to smile. Nobody else had such compunction and outright laughed.

"Boob," River declared, rolling her eyes.

"What?" Jayne demanded, like he was close to taking offense.

Mal sighed. "I believe what Wash is gettin' at is that the client is sly and prefers to deal with his own kind. Or least ways, folk that can do a passable job pretending at it."

"What about Simon?" Kaylee piped up.

"Wait." Jayne's frown deepened. "I thought you said the doc's prissy ways was just 'cause he's had so much schoolin'."

Kaylee shot him a nasty look. "I _meant_ that the captain could take Simon with him to his meeting at the fancy tea room. Simon's respectable and a gentleman. Got his fake papers now, so he don't have to worry so much about going out into public. And like you said before, Cap'n, the pretty fits." She smiled at Simon encouragingly.   
.  
Maybe the doctor had settled into being part of the crew better than Mal had given him credit for, because he didn't turn ten different shades of red the way he would have a scant few months ago. He just looked up from his plate and said dryly, "Anything as long as the captain doesn't call me 'pasty' again."

"It does seem to make for a right sensible plan, sir," Zoe chimed in.

That had pretty much been that. Wash sent a wave to say they'd take the job. Mal lectured Simon on trying not to alienate folk for five minutes so they could get their business done. Simon got all huffy, insisting that he wasn't an idiot.

Now here they were.

Simon was wearing the same suit he'd had on the first day they'd met, starched collar, shirt buttoned all the way up to the top, tie knotted just so, the same fussiness that had had Mal scowling at Kaylee when Simon came aboard, as if to say, _Was this uptight po po ma ma de really the best you could do?_ Times changed, he guessed. Now he looked on that suit and just thought: Simon.

Or at least that was all he should have been thinking.

Every time Simon lifted his cup, the finely pressed linen cuff of his shirt inched up, and just the little bit of bare flesh it showed off, that finely made wrist, seemed all kinds of naked. A picture went flashing through Mal's head, the same one he was always trying to fight off, dark hair and pale skin. Only this time it was the boy beneath him, flushed and flawless, and stirringly eager.

Mal never thought much about his thievin', never believed it cast a shadow on his character. He only took from them that could afford it, and it wasn't nothin' personal. Just business. Survival. But dark hair and pale skin, and he struggled with the notion that mayhaps he'd turned into a man who coveted, who had a taste for what couldn't ever rightfully belong to him. Maybe he was more of a thief than he liked to think.

Before he could get to dwelling on the possibility too much, their client arrived, in a big cloud of rose water, dressed up as frilly as a cockatoo with a bright green waistcoat and checked black-and-gold trousers so busy they near gave Mal a headache. The man's hat sat perched at a precarious angle and appeared to have actual feathers sticking out of it. The only sensible-looking part of his attire was the attaché case he was carrying. He plunked down onto the empty chair, the many gold bracelets on his wrist jangling a tune.

"Gregory Chilton. Pleased to meet you. Do forgive my tardiness," he said with a put-upon sigh. "I've just been waylaid by my tailor's incompetence. You wouldn't believe the pleats that man was trying to add to my trousers. _Pleats_, even!"

"Uh-huh," Mal said slowly.

He was beginning to see why this fella needed a broker for his amberite buying. The miners on Silverbrook were a hard-bitten bunch, even by Mal's standards, without much use for fanciness or prancing, and Mr. Gregory Chilton made Simon look like just plain folk.

"Well, enough about me." Chilton motioned to the waiter to bring him a teacup. "Let's hear all about you." He rested his chin on his hands. "I'd all but despaired of finding someone suitable for the job, much less someone so delectable."

Mal could have stayed back on _Serenity_ for all the part he had in the conversation. Chilton only had eyes for Simon, and not much concern for hiding the hankering in his gaze. A powerful unpleasant feeling hooked Mal in the gut. Protectiveness of his crew, he told himself. Not that it would do to let it get the better of him. Then he'd have to give his own self a lecture on not alienatin' their business prospects.

Chilton leaned closer to Simon. "I'm not sure 'delectable' is even descriptive enough." He kept right on staring, greed in his eyes, like it weren't a person he was looking on, but some pretty trinket.

Protectiveness. That was what made Mal reach out and put his hand on Simon's shoulder, as clear as shouting out _don't even try coming between me and mine_. "Ain't nobody got to tell me what a lucky man I am."

That Simon managed to keep his mouth shut for once was near miraculous. He just arched an eyebrow at Mal like he was crazy.

"What an interesting pair." A little smile twisted Chilton's mouth, more of a smirk, really.

"We're not—" Simon started to say, because no miracle lasted forever.

Mal interrupted, "We're not much on discussing the particulars of our wedded bliss when there's a job needs focusing on."

"Very well," Chilton said haughtily "I believe you already know the task at hand. You're to go to Silverbrook and pick up the cargo for me. Five pounds of amberite. I've already negotiated the price. Two thousand platinum. Not a cent more. Don't let them cheat you."

"Wouldn't think of it." A gorram shame, really, that shooting this _liumang_ stood in the way of them getting their payday. "That just leaves the matter of our fee. Five hundred platinum."

Chilton got that little smile again, and the urge to wipe it off his face was all kinds of appealing. "Oh, come now, Captain Reynolds. A quarter of the cargo's value simply for transporting it? Let's say two fifty and agree that I'm a most generous benefactor."

"Let's say five hundred," Mal countered, steel in his voice, "with half up front, and agree that finding 'suitable' help don't come cheap."

"Well," Chilton said reluctantly, "I _might_ be able to accept your offer." His gaze slid over to Simon, sparkling not so much with lust, but the more commercial glint of a man used to wanting and getting and owning. "There would have to be other considerations included, naturally."

For just a moment, that familiar picture flashed behind Mal's eyes, dark hair and pale skin, only it wasn't Mal moving above the boy.

His jaw tightened, and he leaned so far across the table he could feel that _liumang's_ sticky breath against his face. "He ain't for sale."

Chilton fixed him with an amused look. "Maybe it was you I had my eye on, Captain." He even winked, the _hundan_.

Mal instinctively reached for his gun, which wasn't there of course, yet another reason he hated these fancified places. Man ought to have his weapon at hand when somebody needed teachin' a lesson.

"He's not for sale either," Simon said coolly. "Besides—" He tilted his head, and it was like he was taking Mal apart at the seams and imaging him naked and a few other things that weren't all that seemly between a crew member and his captain. "I seriously doubt you could handle him."

He smiled, amusement turning his eyes a deeper shade of blue.

Simple. Smooth. That was all Mal asked. The way Simon was looking at him, the way Mal wasn't exactly minding it, wasn't neither of those things.

Chilton let out a resigned sigh. "Ah, well, when I'm outmaneuvered, I wave the white flag." He handed over the attaché case, along with the first half of their fee. "I'll expect my merchandise day after tomorrow. If the temptation should come over you to take the platinum and run, please know that I'll spend ten times the amount to have someone hunt you down and make you sorry. You'll get a wave with the details of where and when to meet for the delivery." He rose and made a mocking half bow. "Until then."

Simon settled back against the cushioned chair once Chilton had gone, taking a leisurely sip of his tea. "We don't have to rush off, do we?"

He turned a look on Mal through his lashes, a cheap whore's trick, and Mal surely would have called him on it if it had been a mite less pretty.

Mal did put on a scowl, though, out of habit. "What was all that _fei hua_ about knowing how to handle me? Somebody might get the idea I've got an insurrection on my hands."

"Yes, well," Simon said, with a dry smile, "somebody might get the idea that I'm a long-suffering husband with a rather possessive spouse on _my_ hands."

Mal nearly choked on his jasmine tea.

"I've made strides in the criminal mastermind department, you must admit, Captain. A vast improvement over my performance as a connoisseur of mud." Mischief glinted in the doc's eyes.

Just like that, they were on familiar ground again, and Mal quipped back, "Gonna make a proper lawbreaker out of you yet, doc."

He even let Simon finish his tea.

They headed on back to _Serenity_ afterwards, threading their way through the throngs on the docks. Mal kept a grip on the attaché case and a hand close at the small of the doc's back. It weren't no possessive thing. Just a right-minded caution. Folk on these prissy, perfumed worlds were always trying to take what wasn't theirs.

Simon didn't have much to say, for once, not until their boots hit _Serenity_, and then he gave Mal a speculative look. "You must admit, though, that you're something of an interesting challenge."

There wasn't time to do anything more than glare him down before they were surrounded by Kaylee and Zoe and Wash, all wanting to know how the job had gone. Simon started in on the story, and Mal had the powerful suspicion that any chance he'd had to establish a proper respect in the doctor, if such a thing had ever been possible, was long since past.

* * *

_Smooth_. That was all Mal asked, but the 'Verse just seemed to have it in for him sometimes.

Things on Silverbrook got off on the wrong foot before Mal even made it off the ship. He passed by the infirmary on his way to the cargo bay and came smack up against the sight of the doctor loading ammunition into the revolver Mal had foisted on him after one too many Reaver scares.

He held up his hands in surrender as he stepped inside. "You plannin' on a mutiny?"

"I assumed I'd come with you to the meet." Simon looked puzzled that there was any point of contention in the notion.

Mal strode over and took the gun out of his hand. "You're a doctor. Not— well, whatever you'd call Jayne. It's the same as I told little Kaylee. I'd just as soon not have you shooting folk." He didn't add that on Silverbrook it was much more likely that folk would be shooting him. "This here," he gestured with the gun, "is for emergencies only." He shut it up in the storage cabinet where it belonged.

Simon's cheeks turned a displeased shade of pink. "But I started this job with you. I'm not completely incompetent in a fight, you know. I really think I can—"

"You're mistakin' this for a conversation, doctor," Mal took a tone of finality. Even Simon usually knew better than to argue with that.

"Fine." Simon crossed his arms over his chest, in a way that told Mal he'd won the battle, but this war of wills was just going to keep on for as long as they were knowing each other.

"We should be back from the meet in an hour or so," Mal told him. "Plenty of time to make the rendezvous back on Klotho."

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard "good luck" float out after him.

It was clear that there wasn't much luck to be had as soon as they hit the soil. Silverbrook was one God-forsaken rock, the ground rough and half-frozen. Wash had landed _Serenity_ in the closest flat spot to town, which wasn't any too near. The mule's tires would be cut to shreds on terrain like this, so Mal and Zoe and Jayne started trudging.

"Heard the doctor had it in his mind to come along," Jayne said, with a hoot of mirth, just a few clicks into the trip. "Should'a let him, Mal. I'd a loved to seen what them miners made of the doc in one of those vests of his."

Mal shot him a glare of pure _I dare you to keep on talking_.

"I'm just sayin' it would have been entertainin' is all," Jayne grumbled under his breath.

The rendezvous spot was a weather-bitten shack on the edge of town, what passed for the mining operation's office. A welcoming committee was waiting for them, five men, all just as big and ugly as Mal remembered these Silverbrook miners being.

"Afternoon," Mal said, because might as well start things out on a friendly note.

The biggest, ugliest miner of the bunch was the leader, or at least he was the one who did the talking, "We got your amberite. You got our money?" Not much on pleasantries, apparently.

Mal held up the bag. "Right here."

The miner nodded. "Money first. Then the amberite."

Mal hesitated. He could feel Zoe's eyes on him, the little twitch in Jayne's arm that meant he was ready to go for his gun if needs be.

Mal smiled, all easy reassurance. "Money first. We can do that. Like my ma always said, ain't no reason hard-workin' folk got not to trust each other."

He tossed the bag to the leader, and after a moment's hesitation, the man handed over a small metal case. Mal opened it, as much out of curiosity as taking care with the cargo.

"Shiny," Zoe exclaimed softly

The amberite glowed like nothing Mal had ever seen. Most precious metal in the 'Verse, and it surely gave every appearance of it.

The miners had hauled out a scale, and they set to weighing the platinum, easier than counting it out. In the space of two seconds, everything went from smooth to humped, the air exploding with belligerence and cursing.

"What the ruttin' hell is this? A double cross?" the leader spat out the words.

Mal stared at him, a mite perplexed. "Two thousand platinum, just like was agreed." He'd counted it his own self, not much inclined to trust Chilton's word on anything.

The miner scowled. "The deal was twenty-five hundred."

For all the 'Verse's twists and turns, it was the duplicity of the human animal more often than not that left Mal with nothing better to say than, "Huh."

Zoe whispered, "Sir, I'm startin' to see why the client needs a middle man."

"Yeah," Mal deadpanned, "for bullet fodder."

Mal held his hands up. "Folks, what we got here is a misunderstanding. Let's not go get getting' all excited. Conjure we can come to a solution if we put our heads to it, something that's fair to all."

The miners let Mal know what they thought of this plan by drawing their guns. Some water barrels had been stacked outside the shack, first piece of luck they'd had all day. The three of them managed to duck behind as bullets whizzed past their ears. They returned fire, for what that was worth, being outnumbered and all, and the ship a gorram hell of a long ways away.

Mal got on the comm, "Wash, might be we could use a diversion 'round about now."

"Something loud and flashy coming right up," Wash answered.

"I knew I should have brought grenades." Jayne glared at Mal.

Another ten minutes of gunfire, and then the horizon exploded bright orange-red, earth and rock kicking up, raining down. Enough of a distraction for Mal, Zoe and Jayne to make a break for it. They scrambled up the rocky incline that led back to the ship. Boots thudded behind them, more bullets flying. They cleared the rise, and _Serenity_ was hovering there, the prettiest sight Mal had ever seen. They clamored up the ramp, returning gunfire as they went.

Mal hit the button to close the door and yelled into the comm, "Go, Wash, go!"

_Serenity_ lifted, and Mal breathed out, the familiar relief of being airborne. Almost as an afterthought, he realized he had the case of amberite still gripped in his hand.

"Huh," he said.

"Can I assume that no one needs to be sewn back together?"

Mal hadn't even noticed Simon, but there he was, glaring down from the catwalk, like Mal was personally responsible for people shooting at him.

"No one needs mendin', doc," Mal said cheerfully. "Not yet anyway. Day's still young."

Simon cussed under his breath, some pretty colorful stuff from what little of it Mal could make out, and then he stomped off back to the infirmary. Mal didn't miss the cast of his eyes before he went, that bleak, strained to the limit look he usually reserved for frettin' about his sister. Here was one more reason, on top of all the many others, why Mal had to nip this— whatever it was between them in the bud and right quick like. Didn't neither of them need any more cause for worry than they already had.

* * *

Twelve hours back to Klotho, and Mal spent a good chunk of the time considering whether to leave Simon behind for the next part of the job, as well. Cheats didn't, as a rule, suddenly reform their ways, so Mal had no reason to believe that Chilton would just hand over the rest of their platinum with a smile and a thank-you. At the very least, it would do Mal's blood pressure a kindness not to have to watch that _hundan_ drooling all over the doctor. In the end, though, he couldn't take the chance that Chilton would kick up a fuss if his "someone suitable" didn't show. Best not to go handin' the man an excuse not to pay them their wage.

Nothing else had gone smooth, so Mal expected the doctor to still be prickly after earlier, maybe even drag his heels about the meet. But time rolled around, and he was waiting for Mal in the cargo bay, dressed up in another of his fine outfits, gold vest and silk shirt. He wore a prim expression to match, the very picture of respectability.

"You ready?" Mal asked him.

"Whenever you are, Captain," Simon said stiffly.

Mal nodded. "Drop's at that _hundan_'s house. Good bet he's lookin' to double cross us just like he done the miners. Might not be, though, and I'd rather not do any more fightin' if I don't have to. So we play it business as usual 'til it ain't no more." He handed over a small, pocket-sized pistol. "Keep it hid. Emergencies only. _Dong ma_?"

Simon nodded, all big, serious eyes, so least ways Mal knew he was listenin', even if he wasn't sure how much good it was going to do.

Klotho might not have been the Core, but the houses were just as fancified, gleaming steel and marble and glass. Chilton's estate stood tucked behind a big, locked gate, the way rich folk always seemed to prefer it. Mal pushed the comm button and arranged a pleasant like expression on his face for the security camera.

"Captain Reynolds." If Chilton was surprised to see them standing there all in one piece, he did a fine job of covering it over. "I assume you have my merchandise?"

Mal held up the case of amberite. The gate buzzed open. A servant met them at the door and insisted on taking Mal's gunbelt, laying it out on a sideboard in the hall. He directed them down a long carpeted hall, to the room at the end of it. A blare of gold flashed in Mal's eyes when he stepped inside, the place not quite as infernally glittering as that tearoom, but damn close enough.

Chilton sat at a table by the windows, dainty tea things and a plate of fancy cakes in front of him. "I'm afraid you've caught me in the middle of dining," he said, making no move to get up or to ask them to sit down.

"No need to stir from your crumpets," Mal assured him. "We'll leave the goods, take our payment. Quick and easy."

"Just the way I like to do business. If only you'd been on time." He checked his pocket watch. "I make it almost two hours late."

Mal shook his head sadly. "Now, why is it that a man means to cheat me out of my payday always goes and assumes that either I can't hold it in my mind when our meet was 'sposed to be or else I'm not much of a hand at telling time?"

Chilton smiled, small and tight. "The fact remains that the successful transaction of my business depended on getting this amberite two hours ago. Now I'll have to take less than my asking price. I'm sure you understand that I'll need to pass along the loss." He took a sip of his tea.

Mal pressed his mouth into a thin line. "I'm sure you understand that I can walk right back out of here and sell this amberite my own self."

"True, that is a very precious cargo you have there, and yet, not so valuable that you could retire on the proceeds. How many clients do you think you'll have beating down your door once word gets around that you can't be trusted? It's the irony of your line of work. A thief needs his good reputation." He fixed Mal with a smug look. "Besides."

Suddenly Chilton was on his feet, and there was a gun pointed at Mal's head. So long to business as usual.

Mal held up his hands. "No need to get tetchy."

"Why don't you put your gun on the ground, Captain? I'm sure I'll be much more relaxed then. Do it very slowly. I'd like my amberite too, while you're at it. " He cocked the trigger. "Please don't try and tell me there's no gun hidden on your person. I won't believe you, and I do know how to use this pistol, in case you're laboring under some notion otherwise."

"All right, just don't go gettin' all jumpy." Mal pulled out the revolver he had strapped to his ankle, set it down on the ground and handed over the case of amberite.

"I'll take your gun too, Delectable," Chilton said to Simon.

Mal shook his head. "Boy ain't armed."

Chilton raised an eyebrow dubiously.

"He's cut out'a different cloth than me," Mal said. "Never have wanted him killing nobody."

"That's unexpectedly civilized of you." Chilton stared at Simon just as shamelessly as he had the last time.

"You know," Simon told him, "a businessman isn't so terribly different from a thief. How much of a future do you think this enterprise of yours has if you keep betraying the people you deal with?"

"How sweet of you to be concerned for me." Chilton took a step toward Simon, and when Mal tried to move between them, he tightened his grip on the trigger. "Not an inch closer, Captain."

"Is two hundred fifty platinum really worth all this?" Simon asked, chin lifted in that superior way of his, much less crazyfyin' now that it was directed at somebody who wasn't Mal.

Chilton smiled, all slithering and reptile like. "I'm not an unreasonable man, Delectable. I'm still more than happy to honor the offer I made when we first met. You get the rest of the platinum, and I get those other considerations we discussed."

His gaze was sticky-fingered, like if he ever got his hands on Simon he'd never take them off, and Mal's fist connected with his face in a flash of _I've been wantin' to do that ever since I've been knowin' you_. The gun luckily went flying. Chilton dove for it, and Mal landed on top of him, scrabbling at his arms, tearing expensive fabric, hopefully bruising some lilywhite skin. Chilton bit him on the hand, and Mal kneed him in the back. They would have gone right on grappling like that until one of them got to the gun and the other was dead if the sound of a trigger cocking hadn't interrupted.

"Hands on the floor. Don't move a muscle," Simon—pristine, cultured _Simon_ sounded like somebody you wouldn't want to meet up with in a dark alley. "You all right, Captain?"

Mal nodded and picked up the loose gun. "I've got this now. Put that away." He trained Chilton's own gun on him, getting a right good charge out of that. "Where's our gorram money, you _hundan_?"

Chilton pushed himself up into a sitting position and let out a dry little laugh. "I should have known you weren't that civilized." He wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand, and his gaze turned on Simon. "I get the appeal of big and brawny, I do. But really, Delectable, is this the best you can do? A man like him, all he knows is the power of his fists. Be honest." He jerked his bruised cheek towards Simon. "How many times has he done this to you?"

Mal got downright indignant there for a moment, until it caught up to him that the answer to that question was _twice_.

"You don't understand anything about a man like him," Simon said quietly, his expression unreadable, "and you never will."

Chilton leaned forward, straining toward Simon, like he could bend him to his will if he just tried hard enough. "I've seen you two together. How he never even touches you. Don't waste yourself on this violent, self-hating, backwater hooligan. That's no life for you. Stay here with me, where you can be your true self. With someone who's not so afraid of people knowing he's sly that he never even kisses you when someone else might see."

"Is that right now?" Mal never had taken too kindly to being called fearful.

He pulled Simon by the arm, and maybe the boy had learned to trust him a little, because he came easily. Whatever he'd been expecting, though, seemed it wasn't Mal's mouth pressed up against his, all heat and soft pressure and bravado, not if his startled rush of breath was any indication. Truth was, Mal hadn't entirely expected it his own self. But now that he'd started, it surely was pleasing, and Simon wasn't complaining either, unless licking at Mal's lips, pushing his tongue right bossily into his mouth was some unusual form of protest.

Pale skin and dark hair, and for once, it wasn't just some lonesome picture in Mal's head. It was the smell of Simon's neck, touch of his hair beneath Mal's fingers, heat of his body. When Mal broke away from the kiss, he knew just how truly humped he was. 'Cause weren't no way he wasn't going to crave more of that.

He pointed the gun at Chilton with renewed menace, taking some satisfaction in the man's slack-jawed gaping. "Now where's our money?"

"I could give you such a life, every luxury," he said softly to Simon, one last-ditch appeal.

Mal snuck a look out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure it wasn't working.   
But Simon looked to be perfectly untroubled.

"You owe us two hundred fifty platinum," Simon said calmly. "My backwater hooligan takes payment rather seriously. I wouldn't press my luck any more than you already have."

He slid a sideways glance at Mal, humor and something warmer brightening up his eyes.

Chilton took a moment to figure the angles, calculations fairly flashing across his face. Finally he heaved himself to his feet, clutching at his side where Mal had kicked him, and staggered over to the desk.

"Here." He tossed Mal a bag. "I expect you'll want to count it."

"I expect you're right." He handed it to Simon, who sorted the coins and nodded that it was all there, a near miraculous happening by this point. "We'll be on our way then. Pleasure doing business with you."

"I was wrong, you know. You're nothing but a worthless piece of _lese_," Chilton said to Simon. "You deserve each other."

Mal reached the desk in three strides, and then Chilton landed on his backside again, a fresh bruise blooming on his face. They left him there, cussing loudly in Chinese. Mal grabbed his gun belt on the way out, fastened it as they hurried down the steps and through the gate. On the street, they walked purposeful like, although not so fast as to attract attention. Mal flexed his punchin' hand. That _hundan_ had one hell of a hard face.

"Yes, I can see how that would be hilarious," Simon said dryly. "Remind me to make sure it's not broken when we get back to the ship."

They reached the city limits, and the neat streets gave way to the unpaved path leading to the docks. The closer they got to _Serenity_, the easier Mal could breathe, the gravel crunching under their feet like some kind of victory song.

Of all things, it was the sight of Simon's shoes that disturbed the moment for him, so out of place on the rough road, dust marring their fancy shine.

A thought came to him belatedly. "You could have stayed."

Simon's eyebrows rose sharply. "As his whore? I thought you frowned on that kind of thing."

"On Klotho," Mal said, scowling. "There's plenty of civilization, but no Alliance presence. Could have set up a practice for yourself, made a home for little sis."

"Maybe even a few months ago that might have sounded appealing." Simon's mouth curved into a smile. "It seems I've come to appreciate a challenge."

He watched Mal, as if he was waiting for some answer, eyes soft and shining like every kind of complication. Mal didn't say anything back, because he just...didn't know. Common sense said cut it dead, _hell_ fairly screamed it, but so far, common sense hadn't made much of a stand where this thing with Simon was concerned. They tramped on home towards _Serenity_, and the crunching gravel suddenly sounded more like uncertainty than triumph.

Five hundred platinum was big news, so the whole crew was waiting to meet them.

"Did it go good, Cap'n?" Kaylee greeted them brightly.

Mal held up the bag of coin. "Good enough, anyway."

"Doc saved the day, I'm sure," Jayne snorted.

"He did, at that," Mal said.

Simon just shook his head demurely and then hazarded a look at Mal, all wistful like, as if some chance had been and gone. Boy never was much good at hidin' anything. Mal still couldn't conjure how he'd managed to spring his sister and keep from getting caught before coming to _Serenity_.

Zoe didn't miss a beat of it of course, but she kept her peace, the questions all in her eyes.

"Let's be on our way to where we're going," Mal said, "and then let's do some celebratin'."

"Sounds like a plan." Wash took off for the bridge.

"I should—" Simon glanced down at Mal's battered hand.

"Later, doc. We've got lots of eatin' and drinkin' and makin' of completely unrealistic plans for spending our money to do first."

Wash took them out of atmo and set a course for Bhandara where there was a cargo of plumbing parts waiting to be hauled to Persephone. Just because they were flush at the moment didn't mean they could sit around getting lazy. Once they'd gone to autopilot, Kaylee broke out her store of homemade wine, and the shepherd whipped up the best of what foodstuffs they had on hand. Inara contributed dessert, some fine chocolates she'd picked up last time they were on a well-to-do world. After some needling from Kaylee, Jayne coughed up the last of his secret horde of pears that had never been all that big of a secret.

River put her own unique stamp on things, pirouetting around the table, declaring, "It shined so bright it dared you to look into the heart of it, to really stare, like the sun, only you didn't have to worry about retinal damage. And now we get to eat cake."

Only Simon seemed subdued, casting the occasional glance in Mal's direction, looking away if he happened to catch Mal's eye. It didn't come as any big surprise that he was the first to slip away from the festivities. Mal stayed put for the duration. Good luck didn't come their way all that often, and it was the captainly thing to do to enjoy the moment with his crew.

Eventually, Kaylee had had so much of her own moonshine that she started to remark on how the room was spinning. Inara took her off to the shuttle so she wouldn't fall on her head trying to get down the ladder to her bunk. River went tripping along behind them, some notion of a slumber party. Jayne scurried off at the shepherd's suggestion that they do some clearing up before everybody was too drunk to manage it. The rest of them pitched in, and when the cleaning was done, the shepherd said goodnight.

Zoe, Wash and Mal sat back down at the table and had another round, and then Wash got up to go check in on _Serenity_. "This boat isn't going to fly itself forever." He looked to Zoe. "You want to—" He jerked his head toward the bridge.

She smiled up at him. "Be right there, husband."

Wash went off whistling.

Zoe took another sip of her wine. "Couldn't help noticin' the looks the doctor's been givin' you since you got back from the job."

Mal stared down at the cup in his hands. "Never could put anything past you, Zoe."

"If you don't mind me askin', sir, what exactly is it that you're fixin' on doing?"

He sighed. "Lose all touch with common sense, it would appear."

"Well, Captain," Zoe said philosophically, "it's not like it'd be the first time." She kicked back the last of her wine. "See you in the morning, sir."

He nodded. "Try not to distract my pilot too egregiously."

She smiled. "Can't make any promises in that direction, sir."

Mal got up and poured what was left in his cup down the sink. He didn't think he'd be looking for excuses later on for what he was about to go start, but best to be more sober than not, just to be on the safe side.

There were only two places Simon would be, and Mal tried the infirmary first, because that was Simon's way. The more unsettled he got the more he threw himself into his work. Just as expected, there he was, standing at the counter, making notes, updating their medical records or working on ideas for little sis, whatever he did to keep busy when there were no patients needing him.

Mal stopped just inside the doorway. "Hey."

Simon turned, surprised. "Hey."

"You were gonna check this." Mal lifted his hand.

Simon blinked, like he'd completely forgotten. "Oh. Oh, yes." He snapped into action, moving the scanner over to the exam table. "If you'll just—"

Mal hopped up and held out his hand. There was no mistaking how broken bones felt, and this was surely just some bruises, nothing a few days time wouldn't cure. But he was lookin' for an opening, and he didn't mind Simon's doctoring.

Simon bent his head, cradling Mal's hand between his own, his concentration finely focused, that familiar look of professional concern on his face. "I'm sorry if this hurts. I just need to—" He maneuvered Mal's hand, spreading the fingers very gently to scan it.

He studied the image of Mal's bones, and Mal studied him.

"So you think you can handle me, do you?"

Simon's head snapped up, surprise writ big all over his face, like he thought they weren't supposed to talk about this and here was Mal bringing it up. He got over being startled quick enough and looked Mal straight in the eye, his gaze steady and earnest. "I don't know, but I'd like to find out."

Mal didn't answer right away, and Simon dropped his gaze, shifted back to business. "Your hand isn't broken, but you've got some rather severe bruising. I'd suggest a cold pack if I thought you wouldn't just ignore it."

Mal got down the table. "Got better things to do, doc."

Simon let out his breath tiredly. "Yes, that's what I thought you'd say." He turned away to make a note in Mal's chart.

Mal stepped close, his chest brushing Simon's shoulder, his hand resting at the small of Simon's back. "You got better things to do, too."

Simon looked at him uncertainly, and Mal nodded his head toward the door. They walked down the corridor together, near enough that Mal could feel every intake of Simon's breath, fast and shallow like he was fixin' on hyperventilating. Mal was just contemplating saying they didn't have to do this, not if Simon was having second thoughts, when he caught sight of Simon's eyes. Dark and lust-filled, and if he got this excited just anticipating their bedding, hard to tell what he'd be like when they actually got down to it. That right there was an arousing thought, Mal found.

He steered Simon to his bunk, more private than the rooms in the passenger dorm, and followed him down the ladder. Mal locked the door, and for a moment, all they did was eye one another, like they didn't quite know what to do now that they were here. Finally, Mal reached for Simon's wrist, because a man didn't fly in the face of sense just to stand around gawkin', and that one bit of decisiveness set all the rest of it into motion. Simon came into his arms, and their mouths pressed together, and their hands tangled up in each other's clothes.

Simon kissed deep and wet, his hand spread flat over Mal's heart, thumb moving in circles, caressing the skin left bare by Mal's collar. He made little noises against Mal's lips, grateful sounds, like just this was more than he'd expected to have. Everywhere Mal's hands lighted, Simon trembled, pushed into the touch, like he hadn't ever been touched near enough.

"I didn't think you were going to—" Simon's voice was a hoarse rasp in the back of his throat.

Mal smiled. "I wasn't so sure my own self."

He could feel the swelter of Simon's body through fabric, the slight damp of sweat, and gorram hell, it had been a long time since he'd had anything like this. He didn't want nothin' standing between them. He pulled at Simon's clothes, and Simon grappled with his, both of them struggling with buttons, getting in each other's way as often as actually advancing the cause of nakedness.

"Just let me—" Simon fussed with Mal's suspenders, trying to slide them off his shoulders, none too deft at it in his impatience.

Mal batted Simon's hands away, only to have them return insistently, clumsily, that endearing combination of bossy and awkward that was the man himself.

_Endearing._ Mal wasn't rightly sure when that had happened.

Still and all, there were times to take charge, and needing to be naked was surely among them. Mal swung Simon around, pushed him back up against the bulkhead. "You. Just watch."

He took a step back, out of Simon's reach, undid his shirt, and let it drop to the floor.

For once, Simon did as he was told, staring intently, eyes big and fixed, all pupil. "You have a beautiful body. Being your doctor taxes my professionalism more than you realize."

Quite an admission from the top three percent, and Mal smiled, moved close again. He slipped the vest from Simon's shoulders, unbuttoned his shirt, rubbing the silk between his fingers. Pale skin beneath pale fabric, and Mal pushed the two halves of the shirt back to reveal more of it. Simon was stronger than he looked in his fancy clothes. This wasn't a complete revelation, but still, Mal took his time, looked his fill. Simon's nipples tightened just from that, before Mal had even touched them.

"It's a good thing my professionalism don't rest on me being seemly when you're naked, doc."

Simon smiled and grabbed Mal by the shoulder, pulling him close. They kissed, and Mal stroked his hand over Simon's side, marveling at the softness of his skin, no nicks, no scars, just as flawless as he'd imagined. He rubbed at Simon's nipples, feeling right satisfied with himself when they got even tighter beneath his fingertips.

"God," Simon gasped, bucking up, pushing their hips together, their cocks.

Mal pressed his face against Simon's neck, smiling. "You got a taste for backwater hooligans, is that it?"

"Only ones who are unexpectedly noble and come to my rescue repeatedly." There was real fondness in the words, enough to make the warning bells go off in Mal's head.

"Don't go getting too pretty a picture of me," Mal warned. "I've done a lot of things you wouldn't be any too pleased to know about." He touched Simon's cheek, making him look at him. "I'm serious."

"I'll always think you're infuriating." Simon smiled softly. "If it makes you feel any better."

Mal snorted a laugh. "Mayhaps it does."

He pressed Simon back against the wall and surged against him, wanting as much of them touching as he could get. Simon gripped Mal's jaw in his hand and laid some rather filthy kissing on him, pushing and provoking the way Simon was so good at doing. Mal grabbed Simon's hips and held them fast and rubbed their cocks together, just enough to tease.

"Mal!" Simon cried out, arching up.

Mal could count on his hands the number of times he'd heard Simon use his name. He shoved their hips together again, harder, in the hopes of hearing it again. Simon didn't disappoint him, moaning it, loud and a little wheedling. All the things Mal wanted to do to the boy went flashing through his head, pictures of dropping to his knees and sucking him off, or whirling Simon around and taking him right there against the wall. Maybe next time. Maybe if he hadn't waited so long, hadn't spent too many months trying to pretend those glances he was sneaking didn't mean a thing, that they were enough. He wasn't going to last, not when his skin felt this starved, and Simon looked pretty wild-eyed his own self.

"I want—" Simon panted. "On the bed. Please."

Mal kissed his neck. "You sound right specific about it."

"I might have imagined being in your bed a few times." Simon raked his fingers through Mal's hair.

"God," Mal muttered under his breath.

They stripped off the rest of their clothes, and Simon took Mal by the hand and pulled him down onto the bed. They tussled around, kissing and discovering and just generally enjoying their nakedness. Simon squirmed and thrashed until he was on top, and when Mal went to turn the tables, Simon pushed Mal's shoulders to the mattress, holding him there. Dark hair and pale skin, but not quite the picture in Mal's head, and he really should have known that Simon would have his own ideas about things.

"Why are you grinning?" Simon frowned down at him. "You never grin."

Mal stroked his palm over Simon's thigh. "You're just such a pretty sight moving over me."

Simon made an urgent sound and set about another flurry of kissing, his tongue doing enthusiastic things in Mal's mouth. Mal got a hand on Simon's ass and the other on their cocks, and Simon didn't need no more urgin' than that. He thrust, and Mal pushed up against him, their cocks sliding against each other. Simon panted and tangled his hand with Mal's around their erections and smiled down on him.

Sweat ran all along Mal's chest, and his skin felt hot enough to boil over everywhere Simon touched him. It had been one hell of a long time since he'd had anything near this good. He pressed his fingers into the small of Simon's back and squeezed his eyes shut and called out "Simon!" when he came.

Apparently Mal didn't use Simon's name all that much either, because Simon's eyes flew open wide, and he let out a little half-choked gasp, and then there was fresh wetness on Mal's belly.

Simon toppled onto the bed next to Mal, still panting, his face pressed to Mal's shoulder, his breath hot on Mal's skin. Mal stroked Simon's hair idly, pressed soft kisses to his temple. Taking a tumble hadn't eased Mal's longing for him any, just sated it for the moment. Simon had a downright colonial look his own self, taking up more than his fair share of the bed space, like he had no intention of giving up his claim.

"I ain't such a bastard as to kick you out of my bed," Mal told him, a touch insulted.

Simon snorted. "Of course you are. If I'd let you." He plunked his head down on Mal's chest to make it clear that wasn't happening. "You hate complications."

"You are one provokin' man, Simon Tam." He tried and failed for severity.

"You like me that way." Mal felt the smile on his skin. "Or at least, you haven't shot me for it yet."

Mal ran his fingertips lightly over Simon's back. "Likely this ain't ever gonna be simple or smooth, this between us."

"Probably not," Simon conceded. "We are _us_."

Mal laughed and kissed the top of Simon's head. Sometimes there was just one thing to say when what you wanted overpowered your reason.

"Well, all right then."

* * *

_mei yong hundan_ \- useless son of a bitch  
_shagua_ \- idiot  
_po po ma ma de_ \- mamma's boy  
_liumang_ \- bastard/pervert  
_hundan_ \- son of a bitch  
_fei hua_ \- nonsense  
_dong ma_ \- understand  
_lese_ \- garbage

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Smooth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852448) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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